Marketta Gregory never meant to be a columnist. \x34I trained to be a newspaper reporter -- one who tried to her best to be objective. I covered religion for a few years and felt like it was the best job a curious woman like me could ever have.
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Marketta Gregory never meant to be a columnist. \x34I trained to be a newspaper reporter -- one who tried to her best to be objective. I covered religion for a few years and felt like it was the best job a curious woman like me could ever have. Every day I got to listen as people told me about the things that were most important to them, the things that were sacred. But the newspaper industry was changing and few papers could afford to have an army of speciality reporters. So, I moved to cover the suburbs where, as luck would have it, they have plenty of religion, too. Eventually, children came into the picture. One by birth and another two months later by foster care/adoption. I struggled to chase breaking news and be home at a decent hour, so I made the move to what we journalists call the dark side: I took a job in public relations. (Don't worry. I work for a great non-profit, so it's not dark at all.) When I gave my notice at the Rochester (NY) Democrat and Chronicle, the executive editor asked me to consider writing a column on a freelance basis. She didn't want the newspaper to lose touch with its religious sources, and she still wanted consistent faith coverage. I was terrified. It took me about 10 months to get back to her with a solid plan and some sample columns. And so it began, this journey of opening up my heart to strangers.\x34

It started with a challenge from The Nester, this idea to bring a bit of spring inside. So, I cut branches off of spring trees, arranged them in vases. Pronounced some good, some brilliant and some less-than-pretty.

The less-than-pretty I intended to just throw out but when I carried them to the door my mind whispered, Wait until they bloom.

It’s not what I wanted to hear. I have several things taking up space in my life right now that seem stuck in winter. No spring growth. No blooms.

But I put the less-than-pretty back on my craft table, and I check on it every day. The good and the brilliant have long-since lost their blossoms. The less-than-pretty still waits to share its gift.